Caramel Cream Kisses
by Allison Lindsay
Summary: Eddie blinks. Then balks. Then bristles. "Did y'all just forget to tell me that you're dating? Did it just slip your mind?" he demands, his voice growing increasingly subdued. The kind of eerie composure that often accompanies anger. Raven/Chelsea.
1. Sudsy Sweetie

Title: "Caramel Cream Kisses"

Author: Allison Lindsay

Pairing: Chelsea/Raven (Chrave)

Rating: M

Disclaimer (applicable to this and all future chapters): _That's So Raven_ is so not mine.

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"Caramel Creams Kisses" is the long overdue sequel to my first Chrave story, "Cotton Candy Kisses." If you haven't read that one, or if you would like to read it again before you begin reading its sequel, just click on my name, Allison Lindsay, and you can access the story via my profile.

A brief update for everyone: Since completing the first story in the Kisses series, I've been quite the busy bee. I graduated from college, attended Anneliese's opening night of _Beauty and the Beast_ with a fellow Chrave writer, and, in July of this year, met Raven at her concert in Wilmot, Wisconsin.

One more thing before we begin: "Caramel Cream Kisses" is a **femslash**. This means that _**Chelsea and Raven**__** will be**__** romantically and sexually involved**_. If you're uncomfortable with that, please leave now and find a story in a genre that is more to your liking. Gracias.

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**Chapter One**

_Splish._

_Splish._

_Splish._

_Splish._

_Splaaaash._

"_Chels!"_

_Five-year-old Raven glares at her soppy mop-topped tubmate, arms folded over the soap suds clinging to her chest, face scrunched up like a crumpled paper ball._

_Across from her, Chelsea ducks her head and giggles sheepishly. "Sowwy, Waven," says Chelsea, who is in her Tweety Bird phase and has taken to substituting W's for R's._

_Raven wags a finger at her friend and chides, "That's very naughty, Chelsea."_

"_It won't happen again," the redhead vows, head swiveling from side to side, her springy curls spraying droplets of water onto the cerulean tiles._

_Tanya observes the two, her lips curved into a smile that is part amusement, part sympathy. She's proud of her daughter's leadership abilities, but she worries that Chelsea will always play second fiddle, walking behind Raven rather than beside her, Ethel Mertz to Raven's Lucy Ricardo. _

"_Okay, Chelsea. Time to water the flowers," Tanya announces, hoisting a red plastic watering can above the red head. "And then it's bedtime."_

"_Awww," Raven whines, frowning at her mother. "We don't wanna go to bed yet. We're not tired."_

"_Yes, you are," Mrs. Baxter insists._

"_No, we're not," Raven protests._

"_Raven." Tanya's tone is stern and carries with it the promise of a very mild but very undesirable punishment._

"_Okay, okay," her daughter relents. "We'll go to bed." _

"_That's more like it." Tanya turns to Chelsea, nodding at the watering can. "Ready?"_

_A pair of shriveled hands advances in Chelsea's direction, the fingernails coated with pearly purple polish, chipped and peeling. Raven uses her hands to shield Chelsea's eyes and prevent the watermelon-scented shampoo from inducing tears. _

"_Weady!"_

_When the watering can is empty, Mrs. Baxter wraps the girls in matching purple towels and leads them into Raven's room, where she allows them to prepare for bed in private. _

_As Raven maneuvers her head through her Princess Jasmine nightgown, a pale, pasty finger pokes her bellybutton. _

"_Waven, how come we don't share an umbrella-cal cord?"_

"_It's called an umbelly-cal cord, Chels," Raven corrects her._

"_Ohhh, okay," Chelsea stands corrected, and for the next ten years, she will continue to mispronounce the word, because she thinks that Raven knows everything._

Raven Baxter reclines in the bathtub, body blanketed by bubbles, like the foam atop a root beer float, neck cushioned by a pillow that resembles a half-eaten donut. Her long black tresses are piled atop her head and held in place with a pink plastic claw clip.

On her face, an indelible grin. On her mind, childhood memories. In her heart, Chelsea.

Raven loves the way Chelsea smiles, sunny and radiant. And the way she laughs, dulcet and lilting. And the way she smells, a synthesis of apricots and cinnamon. And the way she looks at Raven, like she has never encountered anyone who possessed such… What's the word Chelsea uses? Pulchritude? And she loves the way Chelsea hugs her and kisses her and makes love to her. She loves the way Chelsea loves her. She loves loving Chelsea.

_Chelsea_ and _love_ have become synonymous, interchangeable, inextricable.

Raven watches as a soap bubble dislodges from the frothy mass and bounces along the air molecules. The curve of the bubble reflects a prism, reminiscent of the kind of rainbows that appear in the sky after a downpour.

Chelsea loves rainbows.

The redhead is not there at the moment, but she is on her way. Keeping the designer company in the interim is a rubber duck, with a yellow body, neon orange beak, and ridged wings fused to its sides. The bath toy bobs up and down, like a buoy in the ocean. Raven squeezes the toy's midsection, releasing a puff of air from the circular hole punctured in its underside. When she does this, the duck squeaks – or, rather, it wheezes – and it is for this reason, and not for Louise Jefferson, who moved on up, that she has dubbed the duck Wheezy.

The psychic sets the duck back in the water, and as she does so, a visitor knocks at the door.

"Hey, Rae?"

"Hey, Chels!"

"Are you in there?"

Raven shakes her head and rolls her eyes and laughs softly, because Chelsea will never change.

"No."

"Okay, I'll come back later."

"Get in here, Chels!"

Enter Chelsea Daniels, wearing short shorts and a tank top, her strawberry locks swept up into a ponytail. In one hand, she holds a canvas tote bag, in the other, a flat rectangular box.

Approaching her girlfriend, Chelsea greets Raven in her customary perky fashion. "Hi, sweetie!"

"Hey, boo."

Chelsea bends at the waist and pecks Raven on the cheek. "I signed us up for the summer reading club at the library," the visitor announces, as she plops her rump onto the rug in front of the tub, setting her bag down beside her. "I put your card back in your wallet."

"Get anything good?"

"Mmm-hmm," the redhead responds. "I know I'm kinda old for it, but I found this really cute book in the juvie section – Love Me, Love My Broccoli. It's about this girl who's a vegetarian, and she loves animals."

"And her name is Chelsea, right?" the psychic surmises.

"Chloe."

"Close."

"And then I got this book on the history of shoes. That's for you."

The designer's hand emerges from beneath her bubble blanket and transfers the fluffy foam from her finger to Chelsea's nose. "Thanks," she says, as her girlfriend snarls playfully and swipes at the soap. Raven giggles. _I love my Biscuithead. _ "So, what's in the box?"

"Caramel creams. Uncle Earl sent 'em."

"Uncle Earl? The one who tries to get you to pull his finger on Thanksgiving?"

"And his leg, yeah. Aunt Earline decided that Uncle Earl needed a hobby, so she's teaching him how to make stuff. I think these turned out pretty good," Chelsea comments, then adds, as if to entice her companion, "They're all-natural. Not organic, but the next best thing."

Removing the lid, the redhead reveals two neat rows of coffee-colored wedges with snowflake-white cream embedded in their centers. Chelsea plucks one from the box and bites into it, her teeth puncturing the goopy clump.

"That looks good," Raven remarks, the tip of her tongue traversing her lower lip.

A pair of pretty brown peepers twinkles, exuding mischief. Chelsea leans forward, pausing just inches from Raven's face. "Want a taste?"

The two gravitate toward one another, compelled by a mutual need.

Their lips connect.

A chaste peck, sticky and satisfying.

Caramel cream kiss.

Continued contact, gooey and gratifying.

Caramel cream kisses.

They disconnect.

"That was yummy," Chelsea comments. "You whet my appetite. Get it? _Whet_ my appetite? 'Cause you're wet and…" Chelsea trails off, her thoughts disintegrating. And before her companion can utter two syllables in response, her tongue is demanding access to Raven's mouth. Eager, anxious, impatient. Urging her lips asunder, Chelsea probes the familiar orifice, tracing the ridges and grooves of the hollow interior.

The temperature in the room is rapidly escalating from tepid to torrid, and Raven is certain that when they separate, a sheen of steam will be visible on the mirror above the sink.

A full quarter of a minute elapses before the psychic breaks contact, which she would not have done were her brain able to subsist sans oxygen for long periods at a time.

The redhead rises to her feet and approaches the sink. "That was a pretty heated game of tonsil hockey," Chelsea says, cleansing her hands under the faucet.

"It's the only sport I'll play," the designer affirms, then adds, "It's the only sport I _can_ play." She removes Wheezy from the water and sets the duck onto the side of the tub, in between the shampoo bottle and the bubble bath dispenser.

"Rae, you're all wrinkly," Chelsea observes, poking Raven's hand as though it is a foreign object.

The psychic pinches her soggy skin and her nose furrows in disgust. "I look like I'm about to audition for The California Raisins," Raven mutters, unplugging the drain. "I'm gettin' up outta here before they drop me in a little red carton and pack me in some kid's lunchbox."

"Naw, Rae, it's cute. I do love me some chocolate-covered raisins." Waggling her eyebrows, the redhead winks at her sudsy sweetie.

"No, you did _not _just say that," the designer murmurs. "I think I'm starting to rub off on you, girl."

"Starting?" Chelsea scoffs. "You've been rubbing up on me for a month now."

"I didn't say rubbing up, Chels. I said-"

"I heard you."

"When did you get so naughty?" the psychic ponders.

"Soon as I walked in here and saw you all wet and naked as a jaybird. Although, technically, jaybirds aren't naked; they've got feathers. And technically, they're not jaybirds; they're just jays… Anyway, the point is, when you get naked, I get naughty."

_That girl is in a state of perpetual horniness_, Raven notes_, _gripping the curved edges of the tub. As she stands, currents of water stream down her body, navigating its contours, merging and converging. She bends at the waist, fishes for her loofah sponge. "Hey, Chels, you wanna hand me that towel?" Raven requests, nodding at the towel bar affixed to the wall.

Chelsea's eyes abandon Raven briefly, glimpsing the purple cotton material. "Not really," she responds, for Chelsea is nothing if not completely honest.

Raven smirks at the expression on her lover's face. "You look like a deer caught in headlights, girl."

Chelsea begins to titter and tehee, resembling a five-year-old child who's just learned the technical term for private parts. "Suddenly, I have this huge craving for cantaloupe," the vegetarian shares.

"You know what, Chels? You are obsessed with the breasts. For real."

"I know, Rae, but they're so… gargantuan. And… bountiful. Seriously, I mean, who needs Grey's Anatomy when I've got Rae's anatomy?"

Raven's eyes make a three hundred and sixty degree turn. "Why don't you just write them a sonnet, okay? 'Ode to The Girls.'"

"Eh, I'm not really into Shakespeare," Chelsea declines. "However," she continues, drawling out her words, "I can show my appreciation in other ways."

Having made the declaration, the redhead rises to her knees, the loyal subject kneeling at the feet of her queen. She kisses Raven's navel, then the flesh beneath it.

But there her journey ends.

The psychic snatches the towel from the bar and swiftly folds the material around her body, creating a barrier between her lips and Chelsea's mouth.

"Rae!" the redhead mewls. "No coochie smoochie?"

"No. No… coochie… smoochie. You want Eddie coming down here right when _I'm_ coming down _there_? I don't think so. No."

"Rae, how can you both be coming at the same ti… Ohhh. You mean… Yeah, okay. Awkward."

"Yeah, awkward," Raven concurs, as she steps out of the bathtub and into her flip flops, before padding into her bedroom. Reaching her bureau, she pulls open the top drawer and begins sifting through its contents. "Hey, Chels?"

"Coming," Chelsea chirps, and skips into the bedroom.

Her back to the redhead, Raven removes the clip from her hair, causing her streamer-curly tresses to flop onto her shoulders. "Am I staying over at your place tomorrow?"

"Yeah. But don't bring your pajamas. I mean, it's not like you'll really have an occasion to wear them or anything."

Raven pivots so that she is facing Chelsea. As she is about to reply, she notices that the redhead is concealing something behind her back. "Whatcha got there, Chels?"

"Wheezy," Chelsea informs her companion, holding him in plain view, "has been ab-duck-ted. Get it? Ab-_duck_-ted?" Chelsea guffaws, slapping her thigh, marveling at her wit.

"Yeah, very funny, Chels. Now give it back."

"Ah ah ah. Not so fast there, miss missy. It's gonna cost ya."

"Oh?" the psychic queries, placing her undergarments on top of the bedspread.

"Mmm-hmm. How about we make a trade?"

"I'm listening."

"I'll trade you the duck… for… a fuck."

Raven's eyes expand in diameter, and she feels the urge to insert a bar of soap into Chelsea's mouth. "Chels! You don't swear."

"I wasn't swearing!" the redhead protests. "That wasn't an _Oh, fuck_ fuck. That was a _Let's fuck_ fuck."

Raven feels her innocence unraveling by the yard. "Chelsea!" she chides, covering her ears to hear no evil.

"Ooh, I'll be the speak-no-evil monkey!" Chelsea enthuses. She sets the duck down, then places her hands over her mouth. "Eddie can do the see-no-evil one," she decides, her words muffled and distorted.

"Gotta love ya, Chels," Raven murmurs, crossing to her closet to choose an ensemble for their bowling alley outing.

The designer rifles through her creations, a wardrobe that would put Joseph and his amazing Technicolor dreamcoat to shame. Removing a hanger from the rack, Raven examines the blue and purple frock draped over it.

"Rae, why don't you wear something simple today?" the redhead suggests.

"Simple?" Raven repeats, as though she has never heard the word before.

"Yeah, I mean, some of your stuff is kind of… loud and… well, kind of obnoxious, too, actually."

"What?" Raven squeaks. "Obnoxious?" Raven huffs. "What you mean obnoxious?"

"Obnoxious. You know, offensive, objectionable-"

"I know what it means, Chels," Raven informs her, snatching a pair of jeans off the rack. "You know what I also know? I also know that _you_-" here, the psychic pauses for dramatic effect "-are _not_ getting into the cookie jar tonight, okay?" Getting into the Cookie Jar is one of the many terms the two have devised to describe sexual activity, and Raven is well aware of her lover's constant craving for cookies.

"Rae!"

"Don't Rae me."

"Don't Rae me fa so la ti do," the redhead croons, shrieking with laughter.

A smile pulls at Raven's lips as she gazes at Chelsea. Chelsea, with her megawatt smile and chaste sensuality and unabashed adoration for the psychic. Chelsea, with her-

The phone rings, jarring Raven from her thoughts. Seizing the receiver, she settles onto the chartreuse settee in the center of the room. Chelsea joins her, sliding the box of caramel creams onto the coffee table and sidling up to Raven.

"Hey, Eddie," the psychic greets the third member of the trio. But her attention does not remain focused on Eddie for long, as she feels Chelsea's lips connecting with the moist, bare flesh of her shoulder.

"What's good, Rae?" the rapper responds. "Listen, I just called to apologize for bein' late. But it wasn't my fault. Chantel was holdin' me hostage. You know how irresistible I am. Don't roll your eyes. I know you're rollin' your eyes right now, girl. Anyway, I should be there in about twenty minutes. I'm at the corner of-" Eddie halts mid-sentence, a peculiar sound having piqued his interest. "What's that noise?"

Raven glares at Chelsea, silently commanding her to _back up off me_. "Uhh… what noise?" the psychic stammers.

"That smacking sound. What you doin'?"

"Uhh…." Raven clicks her tongue against her palate, producing a sound similar to that of Chelsea's noisy kisses. "Clucking," she answers.

"Clucking?" Eddie echoes, suspicion evident in his tone.

"What's with the third degree, man? I mean, c'mon now. Can't a girl just get her cluck on?"

"Or something that rhymes with it," Chelsea whispers, inciting a smack from Raven. In spite of – or, perhaps, because of – the physical punishment, the redhead becomes relentless. Her kisses escalate to licks. Her licks segue to suctions. Raven shudders and _oohs_ as Chelsea's mouth meanders along her shoulder, then ventures to her neck.

"I-I'll see you in menty twinutes," Raven murmurs into the receiver. Realizing she has transposed the letters, she hastens to correct herself: "Uh, twenty minutes. Holla." And with that, she severs their connection.

Beside her, Chelsea is giddy and giggly and gluttonous. "Raven and Chelsea sittin' in a tree, f-u-c-k-"

"Chelsea!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry," the redhead simpers. When she has regained her composure, she inquires, "Raven, how come you don't want Eddie to know about us?"

The designer shifts so that she is facing her companion, and contemplates an appropriate answer.

Chelsea says what she means and means what she says.

And says what she doesn't mean to say.

Chelsea has managed to conceal the non-platonic aspect of their relationship, both from her parents and from Raven's parents. And even from Cory. But Raven is worried that if Eddie knows, he will accidentally disclose the secret, and she isn't sure that Tanya and Victor will react favorably to the news. Raven can't even predict what Eddie's reaction will be. She wishes she-

But the psychic's thoughts are interrupted by a vision, as she is catapulted into the future.

_The bowling alley. Lane thirteen. Raven is sitting beside Chelsea at the scorekeeper. Eddie is seated in an adjacent chair, an expectant expression on his face._

"_Well?" Eddie probes. "What did y'all wanna tell me?"_

_The designer glides her palms along the denim fabric of her jeans. One hand forward, the other back. One hand back, the other forward. "Um… Eddie… uh... what we wanna tell you is that… well, uh-"_

"_Raven and I are dating."_

The psychic groans in frustration as she returns to the present.

"What, Rae? Did you just have a vision?" her girlfriend asks, placing a hand on Raven's knee.

"Yeah. I saw us at the bowling alley, and we were telling Eddie about us."

"About us being… an us?"

The designer nods.

"Well, how did he react? Was he mad? Sad? Glad?"

"I don't really know, Chels. My vision ended right after we told him," Raven replies, crossing to her bed.

"So, then, we _are_ gonna tell him? Today?"

The psychic shrugs. "I guess so. It's gotta be today 'cause you're wearing the same clothes you were wearing in my vision." She glimpses the outfit laid out on her bedspread. "And _I'm_ wearing the same clothes I was wearing in my vision, so… Yeah, looks like we're gonna tell him today. And we probably should. I mean, he's gonna find out eventually. So, we might as well just go ahead and get it over with."

"Yeah. I think he'll be surprised, but I don't think he's gonna wig out or anything."

"I hope not," Raven murmurs, and grips her towel, preparing to remove it. "Close your eyes, Chels," she instructs.

Chelsea blinks, doe-eyed. "Why?"

"You wanna get in the cookie jar later?"

Without further ado, the redhead places her hands over her eyes. "Proceed."

Satisfied, Raven removes her towel and begins to dress, having decided on a white T-shirt, tulip pink camisole, and dark blue denims.

"Oh, I meant to tell you," the redhead remarks, hands still shielding her eyes. "I thought up a new nickname for you."

Raven fastens the button on her jeans. _It better not have anything to do with gravy_, she prays, recalling the Gravyhead moniker Chelsea had conferred upon her at the carnival.

"LL Cool Rae."

"Say what?"

"Raven, don't you remember that huge crush you used to have on LL Cool J?"

"Used to have?" the psychic scoffs, retrieving her hairbrush from the dresser. "I still think he's fine."

"See? Then it's perfect. Except it's kinda long, though. Maybe we should shorten it."

"Yeah, girl, we should shorten it," the designer concurs. Stifling a snicker, she adds, "We need to conserve letters. Don't want our L's and O's ending up on the endangered species list."

"Funny, Rae. Oh, hey! That's it! We'll shorten it to Rae!"

"So, uh, my new nickname is… Rae?"

"Yeah!" her companion chirps, bouncing with enthusiasm, resembling Tigger the tiger. "Isn't that cute?"

The psychic fleetingly known as LL Cool Rae decides to humor her girlfriend. "I love it!" she gushes, sliding onto the chair in front of her vanity table. "Okay, Chels, you can go ahead and open your eyes now. Just gotta put on my face and then I'm ready." Raven studies her reflection, noting the natural radiance of her skin. _Sex is definitely good for the complexion_, the designer concludes, as she swivels the cap on a tube of mascara.

Glancing at the redhead out of the corner of her eye, Raven grins. The normally chatty Chelsea is quiet now, having learned from experience not to disturb or distract the designer while she is applying her make-up. Otherwise, it will take Raven twice as long, if not longer, to get the job done.

When she is finished, the psychic joins Chelsea on the couch.

"Want some more?" Chelsea offers, lifting the lid off the box of caramel creams.

Raven pinches a nugget between her thumb and forefinger. "We better hide these from Eddie," she says, taking the box from her girlfriend and sliding it under the couch. "That boy just doesn't know when to quit. Probably eats in his sleep, too, you know what I'm say-"

"Rae."

Raven looks to her left and sees Chelsea leaning toward her, lips puckered and ready for action. "I wuv you, Waven," the redhead professes, sweet and silly and sincere.

Raven's insides dissolve into pudding. "I love you, too."

Caramel cream kisses resume.

Peck. Smack. Smooch.

Lips part to permit the entry of tongues, an oral exploration.

Raven hopes that their game of tonsil hockey will go into overtime. But it is not to be. She detaches her mouth from the redhead's. "I hear Eddie," the psychic pouts.

Chelsea groans and crosses her arms over her chest. "He made our kiss go amiss."

"This is not good, Biscuithead."

"Knock, knock."

The two turn to the doorway of Raven's basement boudoir. Standing on the landing is Eddie Thomas, clad in jeans and a red-and-yellow striped polo shirt.

"Who's there?" Chelsea inquires.

"It's _me_, Chels! I'm standin' right in front of you!"

"It's-me-Chels-I'm-standing-right-in-front-of-you who?"

Eddie sighs in exasperation. "Aw, never mind," the boy grumbles, dismissing the redhead with a flick of his hand.

"Uh, Eddie, I don't think you really grasp the whole knock-knock joke concept," Chelsea observes.

"_Anyway_… I'm sorry I'm late. You ready to go?"

In unison, the girls nod and rise to their feet.

"You guys wanna get something to eat afterwards?" Eddie suggests, jogging up the staircase that leads to and from the basement.

"Um… yeah, okay," Raven agrees with some reluctance. "Where should we go?"

"Oh, I'll eat anything," Chelsea replies. "As long as it doesn't baa, moo, oink, quack, or cluck."

"So, uh, shrimp or turkey okay?" Eddie jests.

"Eddie!"

It is Raven who scolds him.

"I'm just playin' with you, girl," he assures Chelsea, and continues on his way.

Behind him, the psychic pauses in the middle of the staircase. She reaches for Chelsea's arm, halting her ascent as well.

"What's wrong, Rae?" the redhead whispers.

"Uh, Eddie?" Raven calls up the stairs when she is certain that the third amigo has reached the first floor. "We'll be right there! I left something in my room."

"Okay!"

"Well, so much for _us_ eating out tonight," Chelsea grouses.

"Oh, we _are_ eating out tonight, Chels," Raven promises, squeezing the girl's waist.

Chelsea's brow furrows in puzzlement. "What, you mean, like, go back out again, without Eddie?"

"No. We're not going out again, Chels. We're staying in."

"Okay, but, Rae, how can we eat out if we're staying in? That doesn't make any sense." And then, like an avalanche of biscuits, it dawns on Chelsea exactly what Raven means. "Ohhh."

The psychic observes her girlfriend, watching as the eyes darken, the brown irises barely visible.

"I see," Chelsea purrs. "So we're eating out _after_ we eat out. Gotcha."

Raven grins. "I knew you'd get there."

"Man, what y'all doin' down there?" Eddie demands.

"I'm kickin' it with LL Cool Rae," Chelsea giggles, loud enough for Raven to hear but soft enough for Eddie not to.

The designer steals one last caramel cream kiss before turning and climbing the stairs. She keeps close to the railing, ensuring that there is enough room for Chelsea to walk not behind her, but beside her.


	2. Lane 13

**Chapter Two**

"All right, pins. You're goin' down, ya nasties."

Feet positioned five steps behind the foul line, Raven approaches her target, releases the ball, and watches as it embarks on its sixty-foot journey. "Go. Go. Go," the psychic murmurs, mentally willing the ball to hit the head pin.

But her pleas go unheeded. Halfway down the lane, the ball veers into the gutter.

Raven glares at the ball that had the nerve to leave the pins standing, then at the pins that had the nerve to remain standing. "I'm gonna huff and puff and blow y'all down!" she threatens, and expands her cheeks like a trombonist. Knees asunder, back bent slightly, arms crooked at the elbows, Raven looks like she is about to ski down a hill.

Raven turns to Chelsea for sympathy but finds that she is the only person at the lane. Surveying the alley, she locates Eddie at the concession counter and Chelsea at a toy crane machine.

"I don't know why she even bothers," the designer says to no one in particular, plopping down onto a swiveling chair. "Those things are rigged. Nobody ever wins at… What the… Did she just…?"

Raven watches as the silver claw grasps a plush gray elephant near the top of the heap. The elephant begins to move sideways, where it is released into a hatch and retrieved by its new owner.

Chelsea beams and bolts back to their lane. "Look what I won, Rae! Look what I won!"

Raven examines the stuffed animal with interest. The elephant, with its pink eyes and truncated trunk, is clad in bright blue overalls and matching cap.

"Isn't it cute?" Chelsea gushes, but before Raven can voice her opinion, the redhead says, "It's for you," and thrusts the elephant into her girlfriend's hands. "You should name it Chelsea. After me. That way, you'll always think of me whenever you look at it."

"Awww, that's sweet, Chels. I-"

"No, wait. Don't name it after me. Then I might get confused. When you say 'Chelsea,' how am I gonna know if you're talking to _this_ Chelsea," she wonders, and points to herself, "or _this_ Chelsea?" she ponders, and points to the elephant. "Ooh, I know what you can name it. Overton. 'Cause it's wearing overalls and it weighs a ton. Well, it doesn't really weigh a ton. It's just a stuffed animal, but an _actual_ elephant-"

Raven interrupts Chelsea with a kiss.

It is quick and impulsive, but it does the trick.

The redhead gapes at her girlfriend. "Uhhh… should Eddie have seen that?" she inquires.

"You mean _if_ he saw it, should he have seen what he saw?"

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Rae, I have no idea what you just said."

"Why not? What I just said sounds like something you would say."

In answer to their question, though by this point, neither one is sure what that question is anymore, the third member of the trio returns with a question of his own: "So, what are we doin' Saturday night?"

The psychic exhales slowly, relieved that Eddie hasn't seen what he shouldn't have seen. He will find out about Raven's relationship with Chelsea soon enough, within the next hour or so, according to her vision, and Raven prefers that they tell their friend what's going on, not show him.

Clutching a plateful of crinkle-cut French fries, Eddie slathers a greasy wedge with ketchup and repeats the question. "Paging psychic Raven," he addresses the distracted diva. "What are we doin' Saturday night?"

"Uh… Raven and I are kinda busy this weekend," Chelsea informs him.

"Busy doing what?"

"Wardrobe Consultation," Raven responds, borrowing another page from her and Chelsea's dictionary of desire. In this dictionary, Wardrobe Consultation is defined as alone time.

Eddie's eyebrows narrow in suspicion. "And that's gonna take all night?"

"It might," the psychic predicts.

"She's right," the vegetarian validates.

"You know, y'all have been havin' a lot of wardrobe consultations lately," Eddie observes. "What's up with that? What are y'all doin' with each other that you can't do with me?"

Raven responds with the most evasive but truthful answer that comes to mind: "It's a female thing."

Eddie nods.

Then shrugs.

Then shudders.

"I'm sorry I asked," he mutters, and makes his way over to the ball return.

Raven takes a seat beside Chelsea at the scorekeeper. The designer is beginning to feel guilty. For the past month, she and Chelsea have been excluding Eddie from their plans. Before Raven and Chelsea became a couple, the Three Blind Mice hung out as a trio at least five times a week. Since Raven and Chelsea became a couple, the Three Blind Mice hang out as a trio at most two times a week. Eddie hasn't said anything, probably because he spends the time that he doesn't spend with them with Chantel, but Raven knows that Eddie deserves an explanation. He is, after all, their best friend. And what kind of trio consists of only two members?

"Yeah, Eddie!" Chelsea cheers, as Eddie picks up a spare. A bright yellow slash sign flashes on the screen overhead.

The rapper returns to the players' area for the customary high-fives. "That's right, that's right, I'm the man," Eddie gloats. "Your turn, Chels."

Chelsea starts to stand, but Raven seizes her arm. "Uh, wait, Chels. Hold on a second." Turning to face Eddie, the psychic states, "Eddie, there's something we wanna tell you."

"Okay," the boy responds. Cool, casual, completely unsuspecting.

Raven looks at Chelsea.

Chelsea looks at Raven.

Eddie looks at both of them, an expectant expression on his face.

"Well?" Eddie probes. "What did y'all wanna tell me?"

Raven swallows hard. It feels like a clump of caramel is lodged in her larynx. The designer glides her palms along the denim fabric of her jeans. One hand forward, the other back. One hand back, the other forward. "Um… Eddie… uh... what we wanna tell you is that… well, uh-"

"Raven and I are dating!" Chelsea announces.

"Well, go 'head!" Eddie comments, voicing his approval. "Who?"

Raven and Chelsea aren't sure whether to be amused or bemused. They settle on the latter.

"Who… what?" asks the redhead.

Plucking another fry from the checkered cardboard carton, Eddie elucidates, "Who are you and Raven dating?"

"Uhh… each other," Chelsea clarifies, and Raven's heart begins thudding inside her thorax. Chelsea continues, "I'm dating Raven and… Raven's dating… me. We're… We're dating… each other."

Eddie chuckles. "No, for real."

"It _is_ for real," the designer asserts, annoyance having replaced her anxiety.

"Yeah," Chelsea confirms. "Raven's my novia."

"Say what? Your Nokia? Raven's your cellular phone?"

"_Novia_," the redhead reiterates. "It means girlfriend, Eddie. Raven's my… girlfriend. As in… girl who's… more than a friend."

Eddie blinks.

Then balks.

Then bristles.

"Since when?"

"Uh, uh… well, since… since June," Raven replies. In unison, she and Chelsea reach for each other's hands. "So, um, so about a month or so."

"About a month or so," Eddie echoes. His tone is gruff, stiff, clipped. Raven sees his jaw clench, and she squeezes Chelsea's hand. "What, did y'all just forget to tell me? Did it just slip your mind?" he demands. "Was this information on a need-to-know basis and you thought that _I_ didn't need to know?" Eddie's voice has grown increasingly subdued. The kind of eerie composure that often accompanies anger.

Raven's lips part, but no sound emerges.

For a moment, the earth seems to stall on its axis.

"Oh, now you got nothin' to say, Rae? Huh?" Eddie taunts, plopping the carton of French fries onto the adjoining chair. Red spurts lurch onto the seat, like splattered ink.

"Look, Eddie, I'm-"

Eddie bounds to his feet and retrieves his ball. "I'm outta here," he declares, shoving the ball into his bag.

"Eddie!" Raven exclaims. "Eddie, would you wait a minute? Just calm down, all right?"

But Eddie doesn't wait.

Or calm down.

Or say good-bye.

Instead, he stalks past them, in pursuit of the exit.

Raven's eyes sting and her cheeks burn and she turns away from Chelsea, because she doesn't want Chelsea to see her crying, even though she is pretty sure that Chelsea is crying, too.

_Please resume bowling_, the computer requests.

Raven's gaze drifts to the lane. At the far end, printed above the pinsetter, is the lane number.

Thirteen.

Raven slouches in her chair and expels the air from her lungs. "Unlucky thirteen."

* * *

"Rae, you don't think Eddie was grossed out by us, do you? I mean, by the idea of us being novias?"

Raven raises herself onto her elbows and peers down at Chelsea, who is snuggled between her legs, chin resting atop the designer's purple pajama shirt.

"Well, I know he was trippin' because we kept it a secret, but I don't know if it's just that or if he's not cool with us bein' together."

Chelsea's eyes widen in alarm. "He's not gonna drop us as friends, is he?"

"Girl, please. Eddie is _not_ like that," Raven insists, but she sounds more confident than she feels. "Let's just give him some time to cool off and process this whole novia business and then we'll see what happens."

"Okay," her companion agrees. "But-"

"Speaking of dropping things, let's drop the subject for now, all right?" Raven suggests, craving a reprieve. "Why don't we, um… well, you know how, earlier, we talked about eating out?" Chelsea nods. "Well, are you, uh, are you still hungry, Chels?"

In answer to her question, the redhead seizes the hemline of Raven's shirt. Easing it along her abdomen, she kisses the smooth, supple skin above her navel. "I love your umbelly-cal cord," Chelsea says, and teases the tiny knot with the tip of her tongue.

Raven wriggles and giggles and pleads with her girlfriend to stop.

"Awww, LL Cool Rae is ticklish," Chelsea coos. But she accommodates Raven's request, and begins to explore previously charted territory, placing satin-soft kisses on Raven's flesh. Tummy pecks, Chelsea calls them.

"Oh, Rae, guess what," the redhead says suddenly, the string of the psychic's pajama pants wound around her finger. "I decided on a different major."

But Raven has already begun traveling toward delirium. "Huh?"

"I said I decided on a different major. For college."

"Oh. I thought you were goin' for something scientifical."

"Nah, I changed my mind. I want a degree in Cliterature."

Raven snickers. "Well, you are definitely gonna ace all your classes, girl."

"But not if I don't study."

"Well, study on then," the designer entreats, lifting her hips to allow the redhead to remove her pants and panties.

In the instant that the redhead's mouth connects with Raven's lips, the psychic allows her limbs to become flaccid. She sinks slowly into the sheets, like a deflating balloon.

Raven feels Chelsea's breath caressing her, feels Chelsea's tongue traveling along the slippery ripples. Up, down, around. Up, down, around. Up, down, down, down…

She loves the way Chelsea makes love to her, with affection, perfection. Chelsea is earnest and attentive and very, very generous.

Raven gasps, grasps the sheets, as the girl's tongue travels inside. The interior is slick and shiny, with the sticky splendor of melted caramel.

Chelsea continues her exploration. Up, down, around. Up, down, around. Up, up, up…

Raven's body begins to tense and twitch. Chelsea begins to retreat.

"Now, if I were a clitoris," the redhead muses, "where would I be?"

"Seek and ye shall find," Raven murmurs.

And there, tucked between the supple tissue, Chelsea finds the much sought-after clitoris, petite and protruding. With her tongue, she traces concentric circles, mimicking the movement of a merry-go-round.

At the pinnacle of the stimulation, Raven's back arches, like the bow of a violin, and Chelsea's name passes through her parted, panting lips.

When the panting has subsided, Chelsea slithers along Raven's body, pausing just inches from the other girl's face. "That study session really helped," the redhead remarks, dabbing at the caramel clinging to her mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But, um, I don't think I know the material well enough yet."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, then," Raven says, as her hand creeps beneath Chelsea's shirt, "Let's pull an all-nighter."


	3. You’re So Gonna Love This

**Chapter Three  
**

"There were three in a bed and the little one said, 'Roll over, roll over.' So they all rolled over and one fell-"

"Ow!"

Raven tumbles to the floor with a _thunk_. Just seconds earlier, she had been submersed in slumber, Chelsea cuddling her while she cuddled Overton the elephant. And now-

"Ow!" Raven reiterates, as her swaying bed adds injury to injury by whacking her on the back. The psychic glares at the grinning girl still snuggled beneath the coverlet. "Chels!"

"Awww. I'm sorry, Ravie-cakes," Chelsea coos, rising to a sitting position. She leans across the bed, extending her arm to help Raven stand.

"Next time you sing that song," the psychic warns, "_you're_ gonna be the one to roll over and fall out. I ain't playin' with y-"

A knock at the door suspends the scolding.

"You girls up yet?" Victor Baxter calls from the other side of the basement door.

"Morning, Mr. B!" Chelsea chirps.

"Morning, Chelsea. Hey, listen, breakfast is almost ready. I'm making pancakes. How do you want 'em?"

"I'll have mine with blueberries," Raven answers.

"All righty. One order of blueberry pancakes coming up. What about you, Chelsea? How do you want 'em?"

"Stacked, like Raven."

"Chels!" the psychic squeaks. Her jaw slackens, her mouth gaping like a goldfish.

"What'd you say?" Victor inquires, and it is evident from his tone that he hasn't heard Chelsea's order.

"I'll have the same!" the redhead replies.

"Okey doke. Two orders of blueberry pancakes coming up!"

As she listens to her father's retreating footsteps, Raven exhales in relief, then shakes her head in disbelief. "Just so you know," the designer informs her, "I'm sealing the lid on my cookie jar."

"What-"

"For a week."

"But-"

"You tryin' for two?"

Chelsea ducks her head and giggles sheepishly. "Sowwy, Waven," says Chelsea, who has suddenly regressed, reverting to her Tweety Bird phase.

Raven wags a finger at her girlfriend and chides, "That's very naughty, Chelsea."

"It won't happen again," the redhead vows, head swiveling from side to side, her sloppy curls swishing against her shoulders. "You're still coming over to help me, though, right?"

Raven studies Chelsea, a pensive look on the psychic's face as she pretends to deliberate. A couple of weeks ago, the redhead had requested Raven's assistance in cleaning out her closet, something she had been meaning to do for years and something her parents had been insisting she do before leaving for college. Raven had agreed to review Chelsea's wardrobe and help the girl determine which garments she should keep and which she should donate to charity.

"Biscuithead," the designer mutters, the equivalent of acquiescence.

Chelsea beams and hugs Raven. "We'll go to my house after breakfast," the vegetarian plans. "But we have to stop at the grocery store first. I need to pick up some stuff for dinner."

The psychic sighs and shuffles toward the bathroom. "I'll wait in the car," she says, raking her fingers through her tousled mane.

"Rae, there's more to the health food store than tofu and wheat grass, okay?" Chelsea informs her. "They have regular stuff there, too."

"Oh, really?" Raven counters. "Do they have pancakes stacked like me?"

"Well, no," Chelsea concedes, and kicks back the covers, "but they have pancake mix to _make_ pancakes stacked like you. We'll need two bags, though, possibly three, and-"

Raven closes the bathroom door, leaving the breast-obsessed redhead to ramble in solitude.

* * *

"What about this one?" Chelsea asks, holding up a beaded black dress for inspection. "Should it stay or should it go?"

The designer scrutinizes the garment. "It should go," she decides. "The only time you should have black on you is when we're making love."

"What? Oh. Ohhh. Oooh."

Chelsea is instantly amorous and advances toward Raven, who holds up a hand like a crossing guard.

"Which we're not gonna do right now. Sorry, boo, but my cookie jar is empty."

"Well… Well, restock!" Chelsea demands.

"Nope. Ain't gonna happen," Raven disappoints her. "First of all, we've got company," she states, glancing at Sammy, the Daniels' Basset Hound, who is snoozing on a cushion in the corner. "And second of all," she continues, placing a red-and-white plaid skirt into the pile of clothes to be given away, "it doesn't really matter if my cookie jar is full or not. Remember what I said? The lid is sealed. For a week."

"Meanie," Chelsea grouses.

Raven chuckles. She wouldn't really deny Chelsea access to her cookie jar, because if Chelsea went without, then Raven would go without. And she could see no valid reason why she should have to be penalized for something that Chelsea did.

"Hey, Rae, remember these?" Chelsea inquires, peering inside an old clothes hamper. "I haven't worn these since junior high." The redhead reaches inside and grips a bundle of tights encompassing every conceivable color: kiwi green, eggplant purple, pineapple yellow, cantaloupe orange.

"Yeah, those," Raven remarks, pointing an accusatory finger at the wad of stockings, "gotta go. You are _not_ Punky Brewster."

"Awww, I used to love her!" the redhead reminisces. "I thought she was the second best thing since veggie burgers. You being the first best thing, of course."

"Of course."

"Hey, remember when I went through that klutzy phase, and everyone called me Clunky Brewster?"

"I didn't call you that," Raven reminds her.

"I know. But it was _so _embarrass-"

The recollection is interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek of terror. It is likely that Ludwig van Beethoven, deaf and long-since dead, successfully picked up the sound.

"Chels?" Raven squeaks. "There's a . . . There's a . . . sp . . . sp . . . spider." The teenager seizes the redhead, digits ensnaring fistfuls of her purple T-shirt, nose shoved against the side of her face. She has attached herself to Chelsea like a suction cup. "Ewww, ewww, ewww."

Chelsea scans the closet. "Where is it?"

"Don't you see it?" the designer demands in disbelief. "It's huge!"

But the critter pitter-pattering across the floor is not huge. In fact, it is no bigger than the head of a thumb tack.

"Oh, Raven, it's just a baby!" the redhead points out, and proceeds to launch into a rendition of the arachnid anthem. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Take it away, Rae!"

The psychic glares at her girlfriend, appalled. "This is no time for a sing-a-long, Chels! We have a serious situation on our hands!"

"Party pooper," Chelsea pouts, her bottom lip jutting forward. "Oh, come on, Rae, you _are _bigger than the bug, aren't you?"

"Physically, yes," the designer concedes. "Mentally…"

"Not so much."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, kill it! Kill that little nasty!" Raven commands, snarling at the innocuous eight-legged insect.

"Uh, Rae, I can't really do anything until you let go of me."

Raven frees Chelsea from captivity, unclenching the girl's shirt and stepping aside. "Oh, sorry," she mumbles in apology, readjusting the cherry-red bandana wrapped around her noggin. "Why didn't you say somethin' sooner?"

"'Cause then you would've let go sooner, silly," Chelsea points out.

In spite of her crystal-clear instructions to annihilate the arachnid, the psychic knows that Chelsea, lover of all creatures great and small, has other plans for the insect. Raven watches as she approaches the offending spider and scoops it onto a sheet of notebook paper.

"C'mon, sweetie," Chelsea coos, peering at the arachnid through adoring eyes, "I'm taking you outside."

"You're my hero, girl!" Raven cheers, as Chelsea carries the critter to safety.

In the interim between the redhead's departure and her return, Raven decides to call Eddie. Sitting on Chelsea's bed, she dials the seven-digit arrangement that will connect her to her friend.

"Voice mail," Raven grumbles after the phone rings four times.

The familiar message begins to play: "Heeeey, this is Eddie T. You know the drill. Holla at me and I'll holla back." Then, to Raven's surprise, she discovers that the message has been modified: "But if your name is Raven Baxter or Chelsea Daniels," Eddie continues, "then this doesn't apply to you. Peace."

"Well, Itsy's gone," Chelsea announces upon her return.

"Who?"

"Itsy. That's what I named it. Isn't it cute?"

"No, it is not cute, Chels. Kittens are cute. Puppies are cute. Even Gomez the goat was cute. But that eight-legged freak? No, I don't think so."

"I miss that furry little guy," the redhead remarks, then clarifies, "Gomez, not Itsy. Although I kinda miss Itsy, too. But I was way more attached to Gomez. I wonder how he's doing. How's life on the farm, you know?"

"Yeah, well, we got other things to worry about," Raven informs her, and redials Eddie's number so that Chelsea can hear the message as well.

"Man, Rae. He is really mad at us. What are we gonna do? I mean, what if Eddie goes and tells our parents or something?"

The psychic ponders Chelsea's inquiry. Up until this point, Raven hadn't been in any rush to reveal their relationship. When the redhead had expressed guilt about lying to their parents, Raven had insisted that they weren't really _lying_. They were simply keeping their personal lives… personal.

Raven is concerned about the possibility that their parents might not be so accepting of the relationship. She knows that her folks aren't prejudiced or close-minded, and she certainly knows that Chelsea's folks aren't, either; they've made that very clear, in speech and in song. But it's one thing to be open and accepting of other people; it's another thing entirely when it's your own flesh and blood.

This – this non-platonic facet of her relationship with Chelsea – hits close to home.

This hits _at_ home.

In the midst of her musings, it occurs to Raven that she never had to worry about these things when she had been dating guys. Even when her parents didn't approve of the guys she dated, they approved of her dating guys. But now-

"Rae?"

"Huh?" Raven mutters, still deep in thought.

"What are we gonna do?" the redhead repeats.

Raven inhales slowly, then releases the shaky breath that she has just drawn. "We're gonna tell our parents about us," she resolves. "I don't want them hearing it from Eddie."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Chelsea agrees. "It's probably better if _we're_ the bearers of bad news."

"But it's not bad news, Chels," the psychic points out. "I think we're goin' about this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we need a different approach," Raven explicates, pacing the floor. "If we act like it's bad news, then our parents are gonna think that it's bad news. We want them to be happy for us, and they won't be happy for us unless _we're_ happy for us. Does that make sense?" Chelsea nods, and Raven forges ahead. "So, then, instead of bein' all serious and solemn about it, like we did with Eddie, you know, we should be-"

"All cheerful and smiley?" the redhead interjects, onboard with Raven's plan of action.

"Exactly, Chels! Exactly. Let's tell 'em tonight. My parents are comin' over for dinner anyway, so… we'll have 'em right where we want 'em."

* * *

Tanya Baxter removes the lavender linen napkin from her lap and sets it onto her empty plate. "Thank you so much for dinner, Joni," she addresses Chelsea's mother. "Now you said that it's organic… um, what was it again? Glutton-free?"

"Gluten-free," Joni Daniels edits. "Organic, gluten-free spaghetti."

"I'm learning," Mrs. Baxter says with a chuckle. "You'll have to give me the recipe."

Raven glances at her own plate, the white ceramic saucer smeared with sauce and speckled with garlic bread crumbs. Not a single strand of organic, gluten-free spaghetti remains on her plate. _Chelsea will never let me live this down_, Raven realizes, regretting her enjoyment of the meal.

The redhead nudges her. "I will never let you live this down," she declares, and giggles at Raven's glower. "Awww, I'm so proud of you. See? I told you you'd like it if you just gave it a chance."

"Whatever," the designer grumbles, defeated.

"Who wants dessert?" Mr. Daniels offers.

A chorus of _No, thank you_ commences. But Cory Baxter sings a solo: "Bring it on!" he exclaims.

Raven slides back her chair. "Well, since nobody wants dessert..."

"_I_ want dessert," her brother informs her.

"Like I said, since nobody wants dessert…" Raven glances at Chelsea and nods.

For once, Chelsea gets the message immediately. "Uh, let's all go into the living room," she suggests.

"But-" Cory protests.

Raven heads him off at the pass. "You can take the whole pie home," she hisses in her sibling's ear, "if you keep your pie hole shut _now_ and go into the living room."

"Is there something you girls want to tell us?" Tanya inquires, pushing open the dining room door.

"Yeah," Raven answers, but her voice is barely audible. The nerves that she had managed to subdue during dinner have returned with a vengeance. Her mouth feels parched, too, and her lips appear to have fused together.

The group moves to their designated destination, and, when everyone is present and accounted for, they all find seats.

"Wait!" Raven cries.

Five posteriors freeze in midair, as if the psychic has just pushed the pause button on the DVD player.

"Don't sit down."

Mr. Daniels inspects the couch. "Why shouldn't we sit down?" he asks, nonplussed.

"B-Because," Raven stammers, "Because people only sit for bad news, and… and this isn't bad news. This is… This is good news."

"Great news," Chelsea corrects her.

"Great news," Raven stands corrected.

Silence ensues, as the others exchange looks that clearly convey their doubts about the psychic's sanity. Nevertheless, they comply with her request.

Raven looks at Chelsea.

Chelsea looks at Raven.

The group looks at both of them, an expectant expression on everyone's face.

"What is it, Raven?" Tanya probes. "What's your great news?"

Raven swallows hard. It feels like a clump of caramel is lodged in her larynx. The designer glides her palms along the denim fabric of her jeans. One hand forward, the other back. One hand back, the other forward.

"Rae," Chelsea whispers, and nods.

Raven gets the message. Puffing her chest out, she takes a deep breath, and her demeanor undergoes a dramatic transformation. She expels the butterflies from her belly, stretches her mouth into an expansive grin. "You guys are so gonna love this!"

Four adults and one teenage boy lean forward, eager to hear what they are so going to love.

"Raven and I are dating!" Chelsea squeals.

"Each other," the psychic is quick to add, lest there be a reenactment of their confusing confession to Eddie.

Silence ensues, as the others exchange looks that clearly convey… nothing. With the exception of Chelsea's shriveling smile, Raven cannot decipher the impassive facial expressions of a single person in the room.

Raven looks at Chelsea.

Chelsea looks at Raven.

Raven's crinkled brow and drooping mouth can mean only one thing: _This is not good, Biscuithead_.


	4. Roll with the Hunches

I thought that the posting of this chapter should coincide with Raven's 23rd birthday. :)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Much to Raven's surprise, the silence soon segues into…

Laughter?

"Oh, snap," the psychic grumbles in Chelsea's ear.

"They think we're joking," the redhead whispers in response. "You guys think we're joking!" she exclaims, scowling at their family members. "This is no laughing matter."

"We know," Mr. Daniels concurs, doing his darndest to keep a straight face.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up," Raven says, and holds up her hand. "What you mean you know? You know _what_?"

"That this is no laughing matter," Joni elucidates. "And we also know that… that the two of you are dating."

"Each other," Victor clarifies, stifling a snicker.

Raven and Chelsea exchange confounded expressions.

"Did Eddie say something?" the redhead queries.

"No. No, Eddie didn't say anything," Tanya replies.

"Do you mind if we sit down?" Mr. Daniels requests. "Now that you've shared your good news?"

"Great news," Chelsea corrects him.

"Great news," her father stands corrected.

"Yeah, no, no, um, yeah, y'all can go ahead and sit down now," the psychic permits. "Make yourselves at home," she murmurs, still trying to figure out how their parents found out about their relationship.

"If you're wondering how we knew," Joni begins, settling onto the couch beside her husband, "it was really just a hunch."

Chelsea kneels down to pet Sammy. "A hunch?"

"Well, a hunch that was later confirmed by, um… well, by accident," Tanya explains. "See, we started noticing things. Little things. Things we wouldn't normally have noticed except that they were… noticeable."

Victor nods and offers to elaborate. "Yeah, for instance, um, we noticed the way that Raven's face would light up every time somebody mentioned Chelsea's name. Not just her eyes, like it used to be. Her whole face."

"And we noticed the way that Chelsea's face would light up every time somebody mentioned Raven's name," Mr. Daniels supplies. "Not just her eyes, like it used to be. Her whole face."

It is now Tanya's turn to take the baton. "And we noticed that you girls were spending more and more time together, which is saying a lot, since you're already together twenty-four seven."

"Chelsea practically moved in," Mr. Baxter puts in. "Not that we don't enjoy your company, Chelsea, although it's not like we really have the opportunity to enjoy your company. You spend all your time at our house with Raven."

Mr. Daniels nods in agreement. "Yep. Yep. You were always _chilling_ with Raven," he contributes.

Raven isn't sure whether he's emphasizing the word in a futile attempt to be cool or if he means it as a euphemism for something else. She figures she's better off not knowing.

Mrs. Baxter clears her throat then, seemingly reluctant to take the baton this time. But after a brief hesitation, she fortifies herself and shares, "Something else I noticed, um, Chelsea, was that I started finding some of your, uh… belongings in Raven's laundry basket."

"Hey, Mrs. B., you didn't happen to find my chartreuse under-"

"Where-Where were we?" Raven stammers, as her pupils propel pointy-tipped darts at the redhead. Chelsea simpers, whimpers.

Joni chuckles. "Then there was the time that Chelsea turned down a date with a guy she used to have a crush on."

Tanya smirks. "And the time that Raven turned down a date with a guy she used to have a crush on. And, of course, there was-" She stops mid-sentence, looking deep in thought. "Let's see. How should I put this? Well, remember how I said earlier that I had a hunch that was later confirmed by accident?"

"Yeah," Raven recollects, her voice shaky and guarded.

"Well, um, one night I heard noises. So, I came into the kitchen and I, um, I saw you and Chelsea having a midnight snack."

Raven swallows hard, past that ever-present clump of caramel. "A mid-A midnight snack?" she squeaks.

"Well, I saw Chelsea reach into the cookie jar and-"

Chelsea's face and hair are now color-coordinated. And when she speaks, her voice sounds like creaky hinges. "Cookie jar? Wh-What cookie jar? We don't know anything about a cookie jar. Do you know anything about a cookie jar, Rae? I don't know anything about a cookie jar, Rae."

Victor attempts to cure Chelsea of her confusion. "Uh, I think she's referring to that new cookie jar in our kitchen. You know, the blue one that's shaped like a fish?"

The redhead exhales in relief. "Ohhh. Oh, _that_ cookie jar. I thought you were talking about Raven's cookie-"

"Uh, Mom, you were saying?" the designer interrupts, wishing that there were some way to exchange her gift of gab for the gift of gag. _Gotta love ya, Chels._

"Well," Tanya continues, "I was watching you girls from the stairs and-"

"Mom, you were spying on us?"

"No. I was not spying on you," her mother says in a defensive tone. "I was just… keeping an eye on the cookie jar. Making sure nobody steals my cookies." Victor arches an eyebrow at Tanya. "Hmph," she huffs, and turns away from him. "Anyway, while the cookie jar was under surveillance, I heard Raven say that Chelsea had a little chocolate on her chin. Then Chelsea said, 'Will you get it off for me, Rae?' And I thought, 'Stop mothering her, Raven. Chelsea's a big girl. She can take care of herself.' So, Raven leaned over and… got it off for her. And not with a napkin, mind you. Not long after that, things started to get a little… heated, if you will. I couldn't stand the heat so I got out of the kitchen. Not because I was shocked or appalled or anything like that. I was just… well, I just thought I should give you two some privacy, that's all. When I told your father about it the next morning, he wasn't upset, either."

"Actually, I kind of liked the idea," Victor shares. "'Cause, see, now, Raven, I don't have to worry about sharing you with another guy. I have the privilege of being the only man in your life."

Mr. Daniels nods in agreement, and Raven envisions the two of them leaning across their wives and exchanging high-fives. Fortunately, the men settle for a mutual wink instead.

"Yeah, and when your parents told us about it," Joni pipes up, "we were fine with it, too."

"Now, if it had been Raven and Eddie," Mr. Baxter comments, "_that_ would have shocked us. Rae, as close as you and Eddie are, I just can't see the two of you dating." Then, as if to clarify his statement, he adds, "Each other."

Tanya smiles at the girls. "To be honest with you, we had a feeling that this would happen eventually."

Raven sinks into the armchair across from her mother. "You had a feeling that Chelsea and I would eventually fall in love?" she asks, a little stunned.

"No," Tanya replies, shaking her head. "I had a feeling that you and Chelsea would eventually _realize_ that you were in love."

Raven looks at Chelsea. "Oh."

Chelsea looks at Raven. "Hmm."

Raven then looks at her brother, who has been quiet for the duration of the conversation, which is very uncharacteristic of him. "What do you think about all of this, Cory?" she asks.

"I'm cool with it," he answers. "But, uh, I think Chelsea can do a whole lot better than you."

"Ewww," the redhead mutters with a shudder.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," the designer giggles, reaching down to scratch Sammy's tummy.

"You know, I'm curious," Tanya remarks. "Why didn't you girls tell us sooner?"

"I-I don't know," Raven falters. "I-I guess we just didn't think you'd take it this well. I mean, we kind of expected the worst."

Tanya nods in understanding. "I'm sorry if we ever gave you any reason to think that we would have a problem with it."

"But you really should have given us the benefit of the doubt," Joni contributes.

Raven frowns at Chelsea. "Yeah. And we really should have given Eddie the benefit of the doubt, too."

* * *

"Can you believe our parents knew we were in love before we did?" Raven remarks, setting her watch onto Chelsea's dresser. "The psychic is always the last to know."

The redhead nods ruefully. "I'm just relieved that they're okay with it," she says, and unzips her sweatshirt. "But you know what I don't get? They didn't even seem bothered by the fact that we're intimate with each other. Okay, yeah, your mom only saw us making out, not making _it_, but still."

"Maybe they didn't even consider it," Raven ruminates. "I mean, parents just don't want to think about their kids having sex, just like kids don't want to think about their parents having sex. We don't go there."

Chelsea shrugs and sits beside Raven on the bed. "Yeah, I still like to think that the stork delivered me."

The designer smiles and nudges Chelsea with her elbow. "Well, I think the real reason they didn't try to put a hurtin' on our Wardrobe Consultations is because they know they got nothing to worry about. I'm not just a booty call to you, and you're not just a booty call to me. I'm not gonna become a notch on your bedpost, and you're not gonna become a notch on mine. Plus, they don't need to worry about us getting knocked up and havin' somebody's love child."

The redhead giggles, squeezing Raven's knee. "Oh, my gosh! That reminds me!" she exclaims. Crawling like a caterpillar, Chelsea travels from the foot of the bed to the head, where she reaches into the drawer of her nightstand.

"What you lookin' for?" Raven queries, curious, as she peers over her girlfriend's shoulder.

Chelsea's hand emerges from inside, producing a plethora of prophylactics.

"What the…?" the psychic murmurs, face contorting into a grimace. Raven plucks a pecker-protector from between Chelsea's fingers. "Saving up for a horny day?" she quips, studying the royal blue wrapper.

The redhead rips one open. "Remember when they gave these out in sex ed?" she asks, dumping the remaining rubbers into the waste basket.

"Yeah."

"What'd you do with yours?"

"I threw 'em all away. I didn't have any use for them." Raven narrows her eyes. "I thought _you_ didn't, either."

"I didn't, I didn't!" Chelsea insists. "Yeesh." She frees the rubber from its wrapper, the rim squished between her thumb and index finger. "Here, Rae," she says, and dangles the condom in her companion's face.

Raven leans in the opposite direction. "Uh, what am I supposed to do with that?" she demands. "You know what I got, and ain't nothin' I got is gonna get in there. You got me?" She pokes the condom with her finger, her eyes expanding in alarm as her skin makes contact with the slippery sheath.

"Ewww!" Raven shrieks, suggestive of her earlier reaction to Itsy the insect. "It's all icky and slimy and… ewww! Get rid of that little nasty!" she commands, bolting out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

Chelsea's laughter accompanies her into the hallway, and, when she returns five minutes later, hands freshly scrubbed, she can still hear some residual giggles. The psychic has every intention of chastising Chelsea. That is, until she enters the bedroom and sees the redhead changing into her birthday suit.

Raven quietly closes the door, her hand groping for the knob to activate the lock. When she finds it, she reclines against the wall, observing the undressing, her eyes consuming Chelsea. The skin, with its creamy complexion, like a sugar cookie. The figure, with its curvy contours, subtle yet pronounced. The hair, a vibrant red, like Lucille Ball's, curled in ringlets that flounce against her back.

"You can stop looking at me like I'm a piece of meat," Chelsea teases as she settles into bed, snuggling under the duvet.

"You're the vegetarian here," Raven reminds her, wriggling out of her jeans. "I'm not."

Chelsea scoops up the library book on the nightstand. She opens the book, then closes it. "Rae, you didn't happen to find my chartreuse underwear anywhere, did you? You know which ones I'm talking about, right? The ones with the little strappy things on the sides, and the little heart-shaped opening in the front? I've been looking all over and it's like they just up and disappeared. And then when your mom mentioned finding my laundry in your laundry basket, I thought maybe you'd seen them around someplace."

Raven's gaze strays from Chelsea to the periwinkle carpet. "Uh, yeah, I've-I've seen 'em around… someplace."

"Really? Where?"

"Uh… in my drawers drawer."

"What are my drawers doing in your drawers drawer?"

Raven studies her nails, as though the answer lies somewhere beneath their lacquered surface. "They're just, you know, chillin'."

Chelsea chuckles, returning her book to the nightstand. "Did you go on, like, a panty raid or something, Rae?"

Raven turns her attention to the design on the duvet, fiddling with a loose thread. "No, Chels, I just… well, you were wearing them our first night together, remember? The first time we made love? And I thought that… well, I thought that it'd be nice to keep them as a keepsake and… I… I don't know. Never mind. Forget it. I'll give 'em back to you. I'm sorry."

"Awww, Rae!" Chelsea gushes, blushes. "You kept them as a memento of our first time. That is _so_ sweet. Okay, I want the ones you wore, too. The cheetah-print ones, with the cute little trim and the really cute bow below your umbelly-cal cord."

"So you don't think I'm a freak or something?" Raven wonders, crawling into bed, sans pajamas but still in her bra and panties. The bed is twin-size, making cuddling mandatory.

"No way," Chelsea assures her, draping her leg across Raven's thigh. "Am I too close for comfort?"

Raven presses her lips to Chelsea's cheek. "No way."

Silence descends. The cozy kind of silence that lovers lapse into when words become dispensable.

Raven caresses Chelsea's back, fingers sketching hearts across the center. Gentle, delicate, ethereal, as though handling a china doll. She observes the gratifying effects of her touch: a visible shiver and an audible moan. "Hey, uh, you wouldn't happen to know where Wheezy is, would you?" she inquires, referring to her wheezing rubber duck.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," Chelsea replies, and kisses Raven's shoulder. "He won't be bothering you anymore."

"I wasn't aware that he was bothering me in the first place."

"Yeah, well, he was," the redhead persists. "I've seen the way he looks at you in the bathtub. He can't keep his eyes off you."

Raven's head abandons the pillow and she reclines on her elbows. "My duck has the hots for me?" she queries, her eyebrow lifting.

"Of course he does," Chelsea says, moving her leg from the outside of Raven's thigh to the inside. Her hand covers Raven's. Her chin perches atop Raven's shoulder. Her lips locate Raven's ear. "_Tu eres muy caliente_," she whispers, rolling the _r_ the way Señorita Rodriguez had taught them.

Quiver. Wobble. _Wow_. Raven's elbows give way and she flops onto the bed. "Gracias."

"You're welcome, Ravie-cakes," the redhead murmurs, sliding her leg higher, until it is contiguous with the stretch of satin covering the curls and swirls between Raven's thighs.

Heat begins to diffuse through the designer's body and she struggles to maintain a modicum of restraint.

Chelsea smiles and starts to lean into Raven's lips. But halfway there, she stops, leaving the psychic puckered and pouting. "Rae, I know you were never intimate with Devon, but did you ever think about it?"

"Honestly? No. I mean, Devon was cute and all, but he wasn't knockin'-boots cute."

The redhead nods. "What about other girls? Did you ever think about… being intimate with them?"

Raven's gaze strays from Chelsea to the periwinkle carpet. "Well, uh, I… I might have… I might have had a little thing for Alana."

Chelsea's jaw slackens. "Whoa, okay, didn't see _that_ coming." She chuckles. "Alana was pretty on the outside, I guess, but on the inside…"

"Not so much," Raven concedes.

"Well, it's okay that you had a thing for Alana," Chelsea assures her. "As long as you didn't have a thing _with_ Alana."

"Nothin' to worry about there," Raven responds. "That girl couldn't stand me."

"Yeah. Hey, Rae, you think maybe the reason Alana hated you was because she liked you?"

The designer ponders this, at once flattered and amused by the thought of her nemesis concealing feelings for her. "I wonder."

"You are, after all, LL Cool Rae," Chelsea reminds her. "Ladies love you."

"They can love me all they want, but they can't have me, 'cause I'm already spoken for," Raven says, and leans in the rest of the way to kiss Chelsea.

Their lips link and linger.

"What about you, Chels?" the psychic asks when they separate. "Did you ever… think about being intimate with other girls?"

The redhead shrugs. "Well, I think I had a crush on Muffy for about five minutes. But there really wasn't anyone I _really_ liked, except for you, of course. And this celebrity I've kinda always been into it, but I don't think that counts."

"You have a celebrity crush that I don't know about? Who is it?"

"It's that girl who used to be on The Cosby Show. The little one. Not Rudy. The other little one. And then she had a show on the Disney Channel for a while. Anyway, now she runs this, um, how-to, DIY site, you know? She shows you how to do all these cute little craft projects and things like that. She does some other stuff, too, like there's this one video where she learns how to make cotton candy. I love that one. It reminds me of our first kiss at the carnival." Chelsea pauses to place a peck on Raven's lips. "And then there's some other ones where she shows you how to wash your bras and rewire them and stuff. She's _so_ cute. She kinda reminds me of you."

"Oh, really? Is she, uh, vibrant like me?" Raven inquires, glancing down at her chest.

"Oh, very vibrant," Chelsea confirms. "But you're way prettier than she is." She strokes Raven's cheek. "And you're especially pretty when we make love," she continues. "So I think we should make love now so I can see how pretty you really are." Chelsea smiles, tucking her hand under the elastic band of Raven's panties. "So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Make up your mind, boo. Are we making love tonight or are we making plans for tomorrow?"

"Both, but not in that order. We should make plans first, while we still have the energy."

"Yeah, I see your point. So… shopping?"

"Nah, let's do something different. Wanna go swimming?"

"You mean drowning? Girl, now, you know I can't swim."

"Like you're really gonna drown with those big ol' flotation devices of yours," Chelsea chaffs, sweeping her hand across the frilly fabric of Raven's bra. "I've seen beach balls smaller than those babies. You know how you always went out for Best Dressed? There should have been a category for Best Chest. You definitely have the qualifications for nomination. Hey, that rhymes. How poetic."

"How pathetic," Raven retorts. "And I hate to break it to you, boo, but I am more than just a pair of breasts."

"Yeah, I know, but your boobs are a bonus. And speaking of boobs, I've perfected my de-bra-ing technique. Want me to demonstrate?"

"You just said we should make plans first."

"Okay, then, uh… then let's plan on talking to Eddie," the redhead suggests. "Assuming that he's willing to hear us out."

Raven nods. "Yeah, I'd rather fix up our friendship with Eddie than go shopping. That's way more important."

Chelsea looks at Raven.

Raven looks at Chelsea.

"I did _not_ just say that," Raven mutters, shaking her head in shock.

Chelsea laughs and stretches across her companion to extinguish the light. "Now can I demonstrate my de-bra-ing technique?" the redhead requests, her breath teasing Raven's ear, her fingers teasing Raven's straps.

The designer quivers, shivers. "Si," she squeaks. "Hey, uh, you remember how in kindergarten, when we first met, I would bring you things to see if you would eat them?"

"Yep. And I always did, didn't I?"

"Well, uh, how 'bout if you bring _me_ something to eat for a change?" Raven queries, her tone intimating intimacy. Her hand skims Chelsea's abdomen, eyes fixated on the delicacy beneath the redhead's navel. Her tongue tingles in anticipation of the taste, of the texture, soft and sticky, like a caramel cream.

"I thought you'd never ask," Chelsea comments, and even though she is smiling, she sounds serious, as though she truly thought that Raven would never ask.

"Chels, stop trippin'. I go down on you all the time."

"Yeah, but I spend way more time down there than you do."

The psychic raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"Rae, you know what I'm trying to say," Chelsea mumbles. "And I love going down on you, I do. I just… I just think we need to be a little more equitable about the way we divide our, um, our provisions."

Raven's first instinct is to put up her defenses, but then she reconsiders. Relationships revolve around give-and-take, and she knows that if she wants to sustain her relationship with Chelsea, she has to be less of a taker and more of a giver. "I'm sorry I've been neglecting you, boo," she says, and hugs Chelsea.

Chelsea stares, gawking, gaping, a perfect imitation of a goldfish. She seems even more stunned now than she did when the psychic declared that their friendship with Eddie meant more to her than shopping.

"Wow, I never thought an apology could be such a powerful aphrodisiac," the redhead remarks, clarifying her statement by wriggling against Raven's thigh.

"Oh, snap," Raven squeaks, feeling her own arousal accelerate.

Chelsea giggles. "I know. I'm really wet. Do you think you can do something about that?"

"Yeah, I can do something about that," Raven replies, undulating along Chelsea's body. "I can make you wetter."


	5. Pinheads

**Chapter Five**

Splish.

Splish.

Splish.

Splish.

Splaaaash.

"Chels!"

Chelsea squeals with laughter as Raven's face scrunches up like a crumpled paper ball.

"You little nasty," the psychic simmers, swiping at the froth anointing her face and hair.

Tucked into a bubble blanket, the two are soaking in Chelsea's tub. They occupy opposite ends, but unlike when they were kids, there is no island of water between them, no battalions of tugboats separating them.

Raven's vexation evaporates as she feels Chelsea's fingers glide along her calves, sketching sudsy swirls on her skin.

She relishes the contact. This confluence of limbs and lather and love.

"Are you nervous?" Chelsea asks, resting her chin on Raven's knee. "About talking to Eddie?"

Raven avoids Chelsea's eyes. "No," she replies. She squeezes Wheezy. "Yeah," she sighs, and tilts her head back against the tiles. "I hate feeling this way, Chels. I've never been nervous around Eddie. Ever. Except for that time when I thought we were into each other, but that's a whole 'nother story. With this situation, it's like I'm scared to face him, you know what I'm saying? I just feel like I betrayed him or like I-"

But a vision interrupts Raven mid-sentence, and she finds herself thrust into the future.

_The Baxters' home. Mr. Baxter is in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich. The back door opens. Eddie enters._

"_Hey, Mr. B.," Eddie greets Victor._

"_Hey, Eddie," Victor returns. "If you're looking for Raven, you came to the wrong place. She's over at Chelsea's house."_

"_Actually, Mr. B., I'm looking for you."_

"_Well, here I am," Victor says, reaching for a plate of cold cuts. "So, what'll it be?" he asks. "We've got turkey, we've got salami, we've got-"_

"_Nothing," Eddie declines. "For once in my life – and only once in my life – I didn't come here to eat."_

_Mr. Baxter chuckles, sliding his knife back into the jar of mayonnaise. With a knowing nod, he joins Eddie on the other side of the counter. "Have a seat," he offers, and the visitor accepts. Victor bites into his sandwich. "What's on your mind, son?" _

"_Well, uh, I need some advice. See, I had a fight with Raven and Chelsea," Eddie shares. "At least, I think it was a fight. I didn't really stick around long enough for it to reach that stage. Anyway, um, they were keeping something from me and… well, I don't know if they're keeping it from you and Mrs. B., too, or from Chelsea's parents, for that matter, so, uh, maybe I better not get into it." Eddie squirms, the motions rattling his chair._

"_We know, Eddie," Mr. Baxter informs him. "They confirmed it last night."_

_Eddie's eyes expand in surprise. "Wait. They confirmed it? You mean you guys suspected-"_

"_Well, not so much suspected as expected," Victor elucidates. "Come on, let's face it, Eddie. It's pretty obvious that there was always a little extra something there."_

_Eddie sighs and slumps in his seat. "I'd say they could've fooled me, but… well, that's exactly what they did. Man. I can't believe I never noticed it before. Unless I did and just didn't want to admit it to myself. Don't laugh, Mr. B., but, uh, I kinda always thought that if two of the Three Blind Mice ever got together, it would be me and Raven." He pauses, fiddling with his shirt cuff. "But I guess we just never had that little extra something."_

_Victor squeezes Eddie's shoulder. _

_A comforted smile tugs at the boy's lips. "So, um, so who all knows that Raven and Chelsea are dating? Did they-"_

"_Each other," Mr. Baxter interjects. "Raven and Chelsea are dating each other." He snickers, then simpers. "Sorry. Force of habit."_

"_Nah, it's cool," Eddie assures him. "I needed that little, uh, clarification, too, at first. So, did they tell Cory, too? Or Chelsea's parents?"_

_Mr. Baxter cleans his hands on a napkin. "Yep, we're all in the know," he replies._

"_So, uh, so how did you guys take it?"_

"_How did we take it? You make it sound like it was bad news," Victor comments, crossing to the sink to deposit his plate._

"_It didn't bother anybody?" Eddie probes, nonplussed._

"_Actually, Eddie, what bothered us was that the girls felt like they couldn't be open about it. They said they weren't sure if we would be okay with it."_

"_Well, I'm not okay with-"_

"_Not okay with it? You know, Eddie, I'm surprised at you," Mr. Baxter cuts in, folding his arms across his chest. "I think you're making way too big a deal out of this."_

"_But, Mr. B.-"_

"_No, Eddie. You need to listen to me. You came to me for advice and I'm gonna give it to you. If you can't handle Raven and Chelsea being in a relationship, then you're gonna lose your two best friends. So I seriously suggest that you suck it up. And fast."_

"_Look, Mr. B., I'm-"_

But before she can find out what Eddie has to say in response, the psychic is reunited with the present.

"Awww, man!" Raven gripes, folding her arms across her chest, just like Victor did in her vision.

"What's wrong, Rae?" Chelsea asks, concerned.

The designer grasps her girlfriend's hands and helps them both to stand. "I saw Eddie having a little heart-to-heart with my dad," Raven relates, removing two towels from the bar.

"Well, at least he's talking to _somebody_ in your family," the redhead notes. "That's a good sign." Her eyes search Raven's for confirmation. "Right?" she entreats, when it doesn't come.

Raven replays her vision in her head.

"_Well, I'm not okay with-"_

"_Look, Mr. B., I'm-"_

The psychic shrugs and shakes her head. "Chels, right after this all went down, we were trying to figure out if Eddie was trippin' because we kept our relationship a secret or if it's 'cause he's not cool with us bein' together."

"Well, what did your vision tell you?" Chelsea inquires, as Raven guides her out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom.

"Not a whole lot," the designer replies, and pulls a pair of jeans out of her overnight bag. "I really don't know how to read this one. If I'm smart, I won't even try."

"Yeah, knowing you, you'll probably misinterpret your vision and then everything will be all jacked up," Chelsea predicts, scrunching her damp tresses between a waffle-weave towel.

The psychic responds with a squeak of indignation, to which her companion responds with a snicker of amusement.

"And then," the redhead continues, "you'll come up with some crazy idea to fix what you just broke, and I'll be dragged into it, of course, because you're Lucy and I'm Ethel and Ethel always goes along with whatever Lucy says." She pauses, pensive. "Hmmm. I wonder if Ethel had the hots for Lucy. Lucy was totally cute, you know. She had those big blue eyes, although you couldn't really see 'em 'cause it was in black-and-white, but… Hey, wait a minute. _I'm_ a redhead. How come I'm not Lucy and you're not Ethel? How come I don't get to be the one with all the crazy ideas and you're the-"

Raven interrupts Chelsea with a kiss.

It is quick and impulsive, but it does the trick.

"Mmmm," the redhead murmurs, giggling. "That reminds me…" Chelsea sets her towel onto the bed and retrieves a green rectangular box from the nightstand. Removing the lid, the redhead reveals a lone coffee-colored wedge with snowflake-white cream embedded in its center. "I've got one left," she says, as Raven peers inside.

"I'll bet it's awfully lonely in there," the psychic observes.

"Yup," her companion concurs, plucking the sweet from the box. She bites into it, her teeth puncturing the goopy clump.

"That looks good," Raven remarks, the tip of her tongue traversing her lower lip.

A pair of pretty brown peepers twinkles, exuding mischief. Chelsea leans forward, pausing just inches from Raven's face. "Want a taste?"

The two gravitate toward one another, compelled by a mutual need.

Their lips connect.

A chaste peck, sticky and satisfying.

Caramel cream kiss.

Continued contact, gooey and gratifying.

Caramel cream kisses.

They disconnect.

"That was yummy," Chelsea comments, caressing Raven's cheek. "I'll have to tell Uncle Earl to make some more."

A smile pulls at Raven's lips as she gazes at Chelsea. Chelsea, with her quirks and smirks, nuances and naiveté. Chelsea, with her-

The phone rings, jarring Raven from her thoughts.

Chelsea seizes the receiver and settles onto the bed. Raven joins her, sidling up to Chelsea.

"Eddie! Hey!" the redhead greets the third member of the trio. But her attention does not remain focused on Eddie for long, as she feels Raven's lips connecting with the moist, bare flesh of her shoulder.

"What's good, Chels?" the rapper responds. "Thanks for, uh, thanks for picking up. I was kinda worried you were never gonna talk to me again. Listen, um, are you and Raven doing anything today? I don't know if you already got plans. If you do, that's cool. But if you don't, well, I was thinking-" Eddie halts mid-sentence, a peculiar sound having piqued his interest. "What's that noise?"

Chelsea glares at Raven, silently commanding her to _cut it out_. "Uhh… what noise?" the redhead stammers.

"That smacking sound. What you doin'?"

"Uhh…." Chelsea clicks her tongue against her palate, producing a sound similar to that of Raven's noisy kisses. "Clucking," she answers.

"Clucking?" Eddie echoes, suspicion evident in his tone.

"You're so nosy today, Eddie. Yeesh. You know, chickens aren't the only ones who like to cluck."

"Or something that rhymes with it," Raven whispers, inciting a smack from Chelsea. In spite of – or, perhaps, because of – the physical punishment, the psychic becomes relentless. Her kisses escalate to licks. Her licks segue to suctions.

"Yeah, well, anyway," Eddie continues, "if you and Raven don't already have plans, I was thinking maybe we could chill."

Chelsea shudders and _oohs_ as Raven's mouth meanders along her shoulder, then ventures to her neck.

"Yeah. Yeah, Eddie, we can-we can chill," the redhead splutters.

"Great. So, uh, I'll see you at Golden Gate Park in, like, an hour? I'll be in the Japanese Tea Garden, right by the Drum Bridge."

"W-We'll see you in a… wow… er, hour," Chelsea murmurs into the receiver. "Hour. We'll see you in an hour. Bye." And with that, she severs their connection.

Beside her, Raven is giddy and giggly and gluttonous. "Raven and Chelsea sittin' in a tree, f-u-c-k-"

"Raven! I thought you didn't swear!"

"I wasn't swearing!" the designer protests. "That wasn't an _Oh, fuck_ fuck. That was a _Let's fuck_ fuck."

"Oh, well, in that case, I am totally up for a Wardrobe Consultation," Chelsea shares, her hand connecting with Raven's thigh. "Because, honestly, Rae, I have no idea what to wear," she laments, her tone histrionic, her intimation laconic.

"Well, when in doubt," Raven advises, unfurling Chelsea's bath sheet, "go without."

* * *

"We need to talk," three voices state in unison.

Eddie chuckles and reclines against the post at the foot of the bridge. "That's a break-up line," he remarks.

"Actually, it's a make-up line," Chelsea corrects him.

"A make-up line, right," Eddie stands corrected.

Silence ensues. Raven's eyes scan the verdant expanse of the Tea Garden, observing the tableaux of greenery and scenery. Sunny slants filter through the clouds and drench the grass with heat and shadows.

_Nature is nice and all_, the designer admits, _but it would be a whole lot nicer without the dirt and the trees and all those icky little creatures crawling and buzzing all over the place._

Her gaze strays to the bridge that Eddie has chosen as their meeting spot. The structure, constructed like an arched ladder, is challenging to climb. When they were kids, they would make the ascent together, holding hands, with Eddie in between them. He always made them promise that they wouldn't let go.

"Eddie, we're sorry for not being upfront with you," Raven apologizes, suspending the silence.

"Yeah," Chelsea chimes in. She nudges Eddie's shoulder. "We shouldn't have kept it a secret. We just-"

"You just weren't sure if I would be okay with it," Eddie surmises.

Raven grips the bridge's railing. "Well, are you… okay with it?" she probes, her tone signifying anxiety and apprehension.

Eddie's lips curl into a smile. "Of course I'm okay with it," he answers. "That's why I wigged out like I did. I can't believe y'all think so little of me. I mean, did you really think I was gonna drop you guys as friends just because you're dating?" he demands, then adds, before Chelsea can, "Each other."

"Well…" Raven hesitates.

"Possibly…" Chelsea hedges.

"It ain't even like that," Eddie insists. "I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told Mr. B. - give a brother some credit. Come on, now."

"Oh, so _that's_ what you told my dad," Raven realizes, recalling her truncated vision.

"Yeah. Hey, how'd you know I talked to your…" Eddie sighs as the light bulb kindles. "You had a vision. Can't do nothin' without you findin' out about it, can I? Anyway, uh, I'm sorry about that voice mail message on my phone. That was harsh and you guys didn't deserve that."

Raven and Chelsea smile at him, a tacit expression of forgiveness.

"But you do deserve each other," he continues.

Raven punches Eddie's right arm.

"Ow!" he yelps.

Chelsea punches Eddie's left arm.

"Ow!" he yelps.

"What? I had to even things out," the redhead justifies her actions.

"I love you guys," Eddie professes, soothing his bruised biceps. "I know it's only been a couple of days, but, man, I missed y'all like crazy."

No sooner is the confession out of his mouth than the boy finds himself gasping for air and grasping at arms.

"I feel like I got a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck," Eddie croaks, wheezing.

"Sorry," Chelsea says, and releases him.

"Sorry," Raven says, and doesn't. Chelsea has to pry Raven's arms off.

"Hey, just for the record, I meant what I said, about you guys deserving each other. I meant it in a good way. As much as I would love to be in Chelsea's shoes… I think you guys are great together. The dynamic duo of Biscuithead and, uh... uh… What goes with biscuits…? Oh, I got it. Gravyhead."

"Hey!" the girls exclaim, both disgruntled but each for different reasons.

"No fair," Chelsea grouses. "That's my nickname for Raven."

Eddie guffaws. "For real?"

"Well, it _was_ my nickname for her. But Gravyhead wasn't too crazy about it." Gravyhead glares at Biscuithead. "So we settled on LL Cool Rae, Rae for short, although sometimes I alternate between that and Ravie-cakes. You know, like baby cakes? Anyway-"

"Anyway," Raven cuts her off, true to form, "can we get out of here now? I can only take so much of this nature stuff."

"Y'all wanna go bowling?" Eddie suggests. "We never got to finish our game."

Raven and Chelsea nod in unison.

The Three Musketeers face the bridge, preparing to begin the ascent.

Eddie takes a hold of each girl's hand. "You guys have to promise you won't let go, all right?" he requests.

Raven and Chelsea smile in unison. "We promise."

* * *

"I think we need a new team name," Raven muses, her nails tapping against the small round buttons of the computer.

Chelsea swivels in her seat. "What about Pin Pals?" she proposes.

"Yeah, that's kinda cute, Chels. It has a certain… Oh, my goodness! I have the perfect name!" the psychic shrieks. "You are so gonna love this! The Ravenators."

"Spare me, Rae," Eddie mutters, having returned from his trip to the washroom. "And while you're at it, get up outta my chair."

"Your name ain't on it."

"Neither is yours."

"No, but my behind is."

"Yeah, well, I'd really like to see you bowl from all the way back here," the rapper challenges.

"Say what?"

"You're up first, Rae," Chelsea informs her, and points to the monitor overhead. "You entered your name first, so… you get to go first."

"And you also get to get up outta my chair," Eddie announces, hooting with laughter.

With a sneer and a snarl, the designer vacates her seat and goes to retrieve her ball.

Feet positioned five steps behind the foul line, Raven approaches her target, releases the ball, and watches as it embarks on its sixty foot journey. "Go. Go. Go," the psychic murmurs, mentally willing the ball to hit the head pin.

But her pleas go unheeded. Halfway down the lane, the ball veers into the gutter.

Raven glares at the ball that had the nerve to leave the pins standing, then at the pins that had the nerve to remain standing.

"Uh, Rae?" Eddie addresses her, and she can tell from his tone that he's going to taunt her. "It's okay to hit the pins. They're not gonna hit you back."

"Don't make me put you over my knee, boy," Raven cautions.

"Ugh, Rae. Get your mind outta the gutter," Eddie chides.

"Yeah, and your ball, too," Chelsea chimes in.

"Oh, you, too, Chels? All right, girl, I see how it is. You know, I've got half a mind to put _you_ over my knee. I ain't playin' with y-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Eddie interjects, playing referee. "Before you two pinheads get into it, can I please just-"

"Oh, my gosh!" Chelsea cries. "That's it! That's our team name. Pinheads!"

Raven looks at Eddie.

Eddie looks at Raven.

"Biscuithead," Raven murmurs, the equivalent of acquiescence.

Chelsea grins and squeals and bounces up and down as if her chair has sprouted springs.

"You finished?" Eddie asks, adjusting the laces on his rented shoes.

Raven places her hands on Chelsea's shoulders to still the other girl. "She's finished."

"Good, 'cause I wasn't." Taking a deep breath, he turns to face his friends. "I just need to be sure. Um… are we solid?"

"As a bar of organic chocolate made from fair-trade cacao," Chelsea chirps, flashing her megawatt smile.

Raven and Eddie regard the redhead as though she has as many holes in her head as she does in her bowling ball.

"Or as a rock," Chelsea defers to them. "That work for you, Eddie?"

"Yeah, that works for me," he says with a chuckle. "Okay with you, Chels?"

The redhead shrugs. "Sure, I'm amenable to that."

Eddie turns to the third amigo. "What about you, Rae?"

"Yeah," she says, securing her best friends in an embrace. "I'm cool with that. Solid."

**The End**

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